Creak, mockfully passing your breadless abode.
The stately stalk of Ceres bears,
But not for you the bursting ears.
In vain to you the lark's lov'd note,
For you no summer breezes float,
Grim winter through your hovel pours—
Dull, dim, and breathless vapour yours.
The nobler Spider weaves alone,
And feels the little web his own,
His home, his fortress, foul or fair,